


Some Assembly Required

by kuwdora



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Existentialism, Kidnapping, M/M, Morality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwdora/pseuds/kuwdora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you think you’re doing?” Mohinder asked again, looking around. The tufts of grass were standing lean and dark in the twilight and almost majestic. He would almost enjoy the sight if it weren’t for the bizarre kidnapping.</p><p>“He leadeth me beside still waters,” Sylar murmured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Assembly Required

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time [](http://turtlespeaks.livejournal.com/profile)[**turtlespeaks**](http://turtlespeaks.livejournal.com/) looked at it and gave me nice thoughts and comments and the commentary [](http://katers007.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://katers007.livejournal.com/)**katers007** gave me was also quite useful and fun. Thank you both.

The tightness in Mohinder’s chest wasn’t from the excruciating heat and humidity of the everglades, though warm sweat trickled down his neck and back. It was fear. Mohinder tried to swallow the lump in his throat when he raised his hands and made a conscious effort to fill his lungs, finding himself weaponless and without backup. Again. He was in no condition for another face-off with Sylar.

“Put your arms down. I’m not going to kill you today,” Sylar said, pantomiming and rolled his eyes. Mohinder lowered his arms. Sylar held his gaze for a moment and Mohinder stared back, trying to school his face into passivity, but the defiance and anger must have surfaced because Sylar laughed and shook his head.

Mohinder scanned the quiet marina. The sun was thinning on the horizon beyond the outline of twisted canopies of trees, orange and fuscia blanketing the waters where empty skiffs lounged. His gaze lingered on his burning Jeep in the parking lot, the very one Sylar had lit on fire, preventing any sort of escape. He covered his nose and coughed, the smell of burning rubber unbearable. He didn’t flinch when the gas tank exploded, sending metal pieces hurtling across the parking lot, shattering the windows of the tiny boat shop. But he did follow the arc of the burning tire as it catapulted up and over his head, landing in the water with splash that sizzled and steamed.

Sylar stood at the edge of the pier and stared out at the water, uncharacteristically silent. Mohinder took advantage of the lull of insults and threats to fish the cell phone from his pocket and check for reception. He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get a signal, half-wondering if it was the remote location or an ability Sylar was using to stifle the signal. Either way it didn’t bode well. Not that calling for backup would help in a situation like this when he wasn’t even expecting Sylar to have been here in the first place. Mohinder’s resources had indicated that Sylar was still in California.

It wasn’t even feasible to try to leave on foot. It was miles to the nearest gas station and it was be highly unlikely that he could make it in one piece if Sylar had anything to say about it.

Mohinder looked at the burning wreckage again, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He’d be lucky if the trees caught fire. If the blaze became large enough, it’d attract some kind of attention, firefighters, police, or even the forestry services, but Mohinder couldn’t count on that. He turned and walked towards the pier, wondering how much time pushing Sylar in would buy him. He stopped short, eyes catching sight of the twisted body lying inside the closest airboat. His stomach sank and he stepped down, kneeling beside the row of chairs where her body sprawled. Lifeless blue eyes peered at him from behind blood-soaked hair that draped across her face.

He closed his eyes and looked away. He’d never get used to the the violent deaths, knowing in a way they were always his fault for failing to kill Sylar when he had the chance. He stood and turned and found Sylar squatting behind him, level with his line of sight and looking at him and the woman as if he was showing off a trophy-winning catch.

“Like what you see?” he asked, eyes wide and full of sincerity that made Mohinder’s gut churn.

He tried to move past Sylar but Sylar drew himself up and blocked his way. Mohinder automatically shoved Sylar but all Sylar had to do was stand there, having two feet on steady ground. Mohinder stumbled backwards into the rocking boat rather than grabbing onto him to catch his balance.

Sylar’s smile was distant as he looked past Mohinder. He frowned followed his gaze down the narrow river where the gnarled trees stood sentry along the banks.

“I feel like going for a spin,” Sylar said, promptly hopping into the boat, sat down in captain’s seat and pulled a key from his pocket. Mohinder inched backwards, his foot crushing the hand of the dead woman. He jumped slightly and quickly stepped over the woman’s twisted arms and began the clamber onto the pier but Sylar stood up, grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back into the boat so hard that Mohinder nearly fell on the dead woman. He shifted his weight at the last moment and pivoted on a heel, landing on his knee in the bow.

Sylar fiddled with the switches on the tiny control panel, inserted a key he showed to Mohinder and pulled a lever. The whirl of the engine and fan started and Sylar nodded to himself.

“It’s dangerous to stand while the boat is moving,” Sylar said, raising his voice to be heard over the fan. Sylar might’ve had the key to the boat, but part of Mohinder thought it was more spontaneity on his part since Sylar didn’t have the foresight to bring the headsets with the microphones if he was going to be feeling chatty on this bizarre kidnapping trip.

Mohinder sat down and noticed moisture on his leg. He twisted to look and nearly gagged at the sight: the side of his khakis soaked in the blood from the woman’s open skull. He sank into his corner, head lolling and shoulders feeling heavier than ever. It was too much to deal with, too much that he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried. The sky above was becoming netted the grey of twilight, but the air was no less humid. Mohinder idly rubbed his temple, trying to ease the building pressure.

To avoid getting a crick in his neck, which was no better than a migraine, Mohinder lifted his head and eyed Sylar. He appeared unfazed by the dead woman or Mohinder’s presence, focusing his attention on angling the boat through splintering river ways. The sticky breeze on the back of Mohinder’s neck was drying the sweat and grime there, a small comfort that barely replaced the low-grade despair he felt watching the marina and neighborhood of cypress trees become smaller in the distance. Pretty soon the shadows would be climbing into the boat and Mohinder wasn’t sure what Sylar was going to do.

“Where are we going?” he asked despite the volume of the airboat’s fans, knowing full well Sylar would hear him regardless of the noise. The muscles in his legs protested as he kept them folded close so he wouldn’t further disturb the poor woman’s body and he wouldn’t take one of the seats in front of Sylar, his back facing him. That just wasn’t an option.

Sylar’s mouth moved but Mohinder couldn’t hear the words, nor did he understand the hesitation and small smile that drifted across Sylar’s face. Mohinder shook his head and glanced around at the scenery drifting past, small houses nestled on the banks with boats tied to the dock. They were too far to swim towards. Mohinder longed for another human being to signal for help, except whatever help he could flag down would probably end up dead if he tried. Mohinder didn’t wish that on anyone.

He glanced to the other riverbank only to find trees and untamed foliage. In front of him Sylar was angling the boat towards the small river that, as Mohinder turned and saw, drifted towards lush, open waterways where they’d be able to see across for miles. The boat careened through the water, bugs smacking Mohinder in the forehead.

Some twenty five minutes later, the boat jerked, once— twice. Mohinder turned. Now that they were sufficiently away from signs of human civilization, the boat slowed, the grinding whirl of the fan powering down, giving Mohinder peace of mind from the deafening noise. Mohinder swore he saw the briefest wink in Sylar’s face before he turned off the ignition and pocketed the key.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mohinder asked again, looking around. The tufts of grass were standing lean and dark in the twilight and almost majestic. He would almost enjoy the sight if it weren’t for the bizarre kidnapping.

“He leadeth me beside still waters,” Sylar murmured, holding his gaze on Mohinder, though Mohinder could barely see him. Sylar was nearly indistinguishable against the backdrop of the boat’s oversized fan, silhouetted in the fading light. Mohinder frowned, the words trigging a certain air of familiarity in his mind and not for the first time wondered if Sylar was lying and really planned on killing him tonight. Mohinder couldn’t imagine what would make today that special, fateful day in Sylar’s mind. With a dead body already at his feet, the morbid thought of Sylar cutting him open—regardless of him lacking an ability—or strangling him with telekinesis came to mind.

Sylar reclined in his captain’s seat, crossing his legs at his ankles. He appeared comfortable, at home, even. Mohinder’s frown deepened and he looked around again, even leaning over the edge to look at the water.

“I wouldn’t recommend going for a swim. Gators,” he said.

“I’d rather take my chances, given present company,” Mohinder said, ire and adrenaline long sieved into antipathy.

“I’m hurt,” Sylar said, though his bemused expression clearly indicated otherwise. Mohinder smirked and stood.

“What is this?” Mohinder said.

They were utterly alone. No witnesses, no distractions. It was the perfect place to commit grisly murders and dump bodies. Only the cooing undercurrent of frogs and crickets and permeated the stillness between them. Mohinder watched a dragonfly on a collision course for Sylar but suddenly stopped, hovered and veered around the boat, darting past grassy tufts.

“You’re looking at the largest subtropical wilderness in the United States,” he said, sounding much like a brochure. He gestured indistinctly to the dragonfly that’d just left.

“Sometimes I almost wish you’d just kill me,” Mohinder said. Sylar grinned and shook his head, shoulders hunched together in a half-hearted shrug.

“Oh, Mohinder. I wish you could see it my way. Your father did. He didn’t like it, but at least he understood me,” Sylar said.

Mohinder shook his head and shied away from the pool of blood at his feet.

“Is she too distracting?” Sylar uncurled himself and straightened, looking down at her and then to Mohinder, the question hanging on his face. Before Mohinder knew it, Sylar flicked his hand several times and the woman rolled out from beneath the row of chairs, levitated in the air for a moment and was carelessly heaved overboard, her foot banging hard against the edge of the boat as she was flung into the water. Mohinder stared at where her sandal had landed on the center seat.

Of all the obscenities and outrage, the fear and sadness that hastened to the surface, Mohinder tried to keep his calm. “Was she the mother or daughter?” he said and swallowed and didn’t attempt to hide the break in his voice. The blood was smeared all over the boat now. He bent and picked the sandal up and held it like it was a glass slipper and clenched his jaw. He was sure that Sylar would find the display of emotion a sign of weakness, but it was a human sign— one Mohinder would rather not hide in the presence of Sylar even though he’d be smart to do so. Sylar had pounced upon such weaknesses before, but Mohinder simply couldn’t do away with his emotions completely. To do that would bring him down to Sylar’s level. He’d always point out the human cost to Sylar, no matter the futility.

Mohinder looked back to her body. Her blonde hair fanned out like a headdress in the water, the only visible part as her clothing blended in with the darkness of the water. Mohinder didn’t know what would be more horrifying, the water damage done to her body if someone found her, or the fact that if someone managed to pull her body from the water they’d find she had no brain. Both were highly unlikely in alligator territory. She’d be classified as a missing person, sending her family into a wild frenzy of despair for years until they’d eventually give up hope. The truth would have been more horrifying for the family to discover.

“Mother. Diane Lankowski,” Sylar said, tilting his head. “Geena’s in South Carolina studying engineering,” Sylar said.

“Don’t you ever get tired of maiming and murdering people for personal gain?”

“Do I look tired?” Sylar laughed with such ease, unconcerned and relaxed, unlike the rigor mortis setting into Diane’s body. Mohinder had the urge to strangle Sylar until he was the one who fell in the water only to catch the attention of the neighborhood alligators. He wished the idea had more merit because the key to the boat that was the problem, still in Sylar’s pocket.

“What are we doing here? Am I off to a watery grave?” he asked, trying to filter out the snide sentiment. It was so difficult not to rise to Sylar’s bait, especially when he knew better.

“Hardly,” Sylar said and smiled. “I just thought we could slow down, take it easy for once. Nobody stops to appreciate the natural world around them anymore. People move so fast, never truly understanding what they have or what’s out there.”

“I never thought I’d hear you advocate to stop and smell the roses,” Mohinder said looking down at the sandal in his hands.

“Yeah, well, people change,” Sylar said, standing up and looking around for himself.

“You would know,” Mohinder said, rising in sync with him. Left pocket. But what would keep Sylar from using the telekinesis to pull Mohinder in after him?

“It’s true. I have better appreciation for what I used to take for granted. I see more clearly now that I’ve distanced myself from the person I was. I also see what other people miss because humans are too stupid to realize that the way they live life isn’t that fulfilling.”

“And I suppose you know what _is_ fulfilling,” Mohinder said.

“Maybe I do,” Sylar said. He shrugged and folded his arms. “How does working sixty-hour workweeks while having a nanny take care of the kids that the parents never see sound fulfilling? You’d think that after two and three divorces people would catch the hint, or after scandal after political scandal people would finally wise up and look at the misinformation fed to them. I mean, teenagers can’t even do simple math without the calculators on their cell phones,” he said with a belated laugh.

Mohinder frowned, the tangent having several disconnected threads attached to it and Sylar’s self-righteousness and arrogance left a bitter taste in Mohinder’s mouth. “Of course you would find killing mothers and fathers, children, _innocent people_ , and taking part of them would be fulfilling.”

Sylar sat forward with an an air of melancholy. “You of all people should understand. There’s just too much human ignorance attached to what they don’t know. They don’t know and simply don’t care what’s around them and the possibilities out there,” Sylar said. “It’s… boring and a little sad. It kind of makes me wish we could start all over and get it right,” Sylar said.

“You sound like Adam Monroe,” Mohinder said, the sharp realization making him frown.

“Adam Monroe. He’s too much of a Luddite for my taste,” Sylar said and began to wave him off but there was a gentle _whoosh_ sound and Sylar’s hand began to glow, illuminating his face. “Though, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind sampling his ability,” he said thoughtfully. Mohinder would do anything and everything in his power to prevent that from happening.

Mohinder continued to weigh the pros and cons of going overboard. The likelihood of alligators finding him before he could reach the shore, or before Sylar could haul him back into the boat so he could finish the lecture.

“I appreciate what human ingenuity has given us. Invented the wheel, created industry and trade. We’ve seen the stars, been to the moon, discovered the depths of oceans. But you have to look at what else has happened: people can’t take care of themselves. They’ve given up their freedom for what they think is is normal. That’s what I’m talking about." Sylar shook his head, as if disappointed.

“It was during the Industrial Revolution when they began to record the passage of the time. You know why? For the work-day. It was one of the most monumental periods in history, and we got time, the steam train and job specialization,” Sylar added, sounding more disgusted than Mohinder had ever recalled.

Sylar raised his other hand which helped bathe the space between them an ever deepening orange hue. Part of Mohinder feared the low level radiation that Sylar was exuding. He shook his head.

“Mad cow disease wipes through the cattle population and suddenly everybody stops eating beef—”

“Oh, spare me your sociological treatise,” Mohinder said with no shortage of exasperation. He threw the sandal at Sylar; it stopped short and hovered. Sylar’s smile broadened into a leer. The sandal twirled like a ballet slipper before gracefully tumbling through the air and landing with a wet plop.

Mohinder looked around and gestured. “Where are the mosquitos? You talk about the natural beauty and appreciating the world for what it is and to believe in all the possibilities of the world except you’ve been repelling the insects with your telekinesis the entire time we’ve been here. It may from the impossible, but tell me how that’s _natural_. Evolution is a slow process, Sylar, and you’ve perverted it beyond recognition.”

Sylar smiled and when he folded his arms, the light dimmed until he opened his palms and seemingly pushed more light from them. “That’s what I like about you, Mohinder. You’ll always tell me how it is,” he said. “Some days I think I’ll be disappointed if I ever find that cop and take his power from him. I’d be able to read your mind then and what fun would that be for the two of us?” he asked.

“Is that all you want? Was that even the real Diane on the phone when she called me? Or were you playing me the whole time?”

“As if you even have to ask,” Sylar said, because it was close enough that Mohinder should be able to read Sylar’s mind by now just by comparing it to the past actions. “Now. I’m _dying_ to know what you’re really thinking."

“It’s always the same,” Mohinder said.

“How to kill me. How to escape. It’s a tricky situation, isn’t it?”

Mohinder slapped his arm, feeling the sting of the mosquito and Sylar chuckled.

“I haven’t drowned yet and while there is a first time for everything,” Sylar said, unfolding his arms and increasing the light until it went from the faint orange to the intense yellow and white. “I don’t think it’ll work,” Sylar said.

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try,” Mohinder said.

“But neither of us brought a change of clothes,” Sylar pointed out.

Mohinder clenched his jaw.

“I’m sorry you don’t want to hear me out. I used to enjoy our little chats,” Sylar said. Mohinder had to shield his eyes from the intensity of the light—shifting from the white back to the orange, pulsating with the red. He inched backwards but with nowhere to go.

“Sylar,” Mohinder said, raising his voice.

The force of the blast sent Mohinder tumbled backwards out of the boat and he fell into the water with so much force, it knocked him unconscious before sank.

Mohinder awoke in the front of a pick-up truck, slumped sideways. He was sticky with sludge and sweat and there were mosquito and leech marks on his arms. The dry, air-conditioned air pumping full blast from the fans made him chafe and shiver. Mohinder pushed himself up. His eyes burned with every blink and when he let his hands rest on the steering wheel, trying to get his bearings, he swore and looked at his palms. His hands were burned, so were the inside of his arms. From when he tried to shield himself.

He looked around, noticing that he was sitting at a truck-stop, several large rigs filling up, people entering and exiting the restaurant inside the station. On the passenger seat a folded up towel and first-aid kit and envelope with his name on it.

The envelope was unsealed and he pulled the paper out and read the short note. _I’ll bring some life jackets next time. Until then, here’s some recommended reading._

Mohinder crumpled the paper up and tossed it aside before even reading the list of titles. He carefully shifted the car into gear and pulled out onto the interstate to head back to the airport and back to New York.


End file.
